


fight or flight

by catbeans



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Luke Skywalker, hans sub tendencies make an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 20:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catbeans/pseuds/catbeans
Summary: Han developed a strong self-preservation instinct very, very young.It didn't take long to discover that he was the only person he could really rely on.(the warning might be overkill because its brief but i didnt want to Not tag it in case)





	fight or flight

**Author's Note:**

> IF you arent sure if this is for you wrt the violence warning head to the END NOTES for a quick rundown of What All Happens There. also i dont know shit about hans backstory cuz what is and isnt canon anymore confuses me so i just made it up

Han developed a strong self-preservation instinct very, very young.

It didn't take long to discover that he was the only person he could really rely on.

He got good at pickpocketing, his tiny hands perfect for slipping unnoticed in and out of bags and coat pockets, and he got good at watching.

He could read people better than most of the other orphans he found himself on and off the streets with, hovering around the more residential roads until he could pick out the houses belonging to kind people; sometimes they left food out for strays, or gave leftovers to beggars, or had a box outside with old coats or hats for whoever needed them.

He would rub at his nose until it was pink and sniffly, putting on his best sad, pathetic orphan face to ask if they had any blankets or if it would be alright if he stayed in their barn for the night, and more often than not, he would be set up in a cot or on a pile of blankets with a meal he didn't have to grab from food carts or out of bins.

He didn't steal from those people.

He still always slept with his back to the wall, his belongings underneath him, jerking awake at the slightest movement or creak of a floorboard.

It stopped working so well as he got taller, his face less round and sweet, and he was reminded: he was the only person he could really rely on.

His next attempt at finding a place to stay only hammered that fact into his head.

He had never had the idea that the world was any sort of soft, forgiving place; if it was, he wouldn't have seen the orphans he grew up with die or disappear, he wouldn't have had those sleepless, starving nights with nowhere to go and nowhere to safely close his eyes for more than a minute, wouldn't have had the life experience to leave him with a hypervigilance he couldn't turn off and reflexes that were sometimes too quick to jump to conclusions for his own good.

He still hadn't been fully prepared for the factory.

The older he got, the more dangerous it became to steal, the punishments more severe, his hands too big to slip deftly into pockets as easily as they had when he was small. The factory wasn't much better, but it was a roof over his head and at least a guaranteed meal or two a day, and it was all he could find.

The factory was grindingly loud, his head always pounding like it was about to break apart at the end of his shifts; he had lost track of how many times he had narrowly missed losing a finger or his whole hand, still luckier than a lot of the other kids who would be immediately replaced and never heard from again after leaving with bloody bandages wrapped around gnarled stumps, only shutting off the machines long enough to clean them out.

The factory itself was still nothing on the floor manager.

Han had known that kindness was a rare thing to be given to kids like him, but wherever any kindness may have lived in that man, at any point in his life, it had festered and rotted away long before Han ever met him.

He got good at turning just so to keep the blows from hitting anything important, holding his arms to block the worst of it without looking like he was trying to fight back; he had seen what happened to the kids that did, and they never lasted at the factory much longer after that.

Despite all of that, despite the self-preservation instinct that had kept him alive as long as it had, there was a day that he snapped.

The girl a little ways down the conveyor belt from him was new, couldn't be older than him, small and shaky, her hands getting shakier whenever the floor manager passed them.

The floor manager stopped behind her, and a piece of metal tumbled from her hands and onto the floor with a  _ clank _ that seemed impossibly loud over the noise of the machines.

No one stopped working, but it felt like the air had gone still, heavy and tense as the handful of other kids in the room hastily acted like they hadn't noticed.

Even when he wasn't yelling, the man had a voice that could shake walls, and when he was, it was deafening in a way that sent a spike through Han’s chest.

The girl’s hands shook more the longer the man shouted her down, dropping more pieces, the man’s voice growing louder each time.

Han felt frozen; he wanted to do something, get him to stop, but he couldn't move aside from numbly working the conveyor belt, his chest tight with a deep ache that made it hard to breathe, the hair at the back of his neck standing on end.

He snuck a glance over when the man’s voice went quiet.

He hadn't left like Han had hopefully guessed, standing closer behind the girl; her hands had gone still, metal pieces passing her by on the conveyor belt.

It felt like Han’s heart skipped a beat when the man moved his hands to the girl’s hips, her eyes going wide as she kept staring in front of her.

“Something else you might not be so goddamned useless at,” he overheard the man say.

“Stop.”

Han froze.

He didn't see who had said it until the man turned to face an older girl to his right, a steely glare in his eyes that Han had only ever seen before a particularly harsh beating.

Han’s hands started to shake over the conveyor belt.

“You wanna say that again?”

“Stop,” the second girl repeated, louder this time.

Han could see from the corner of his eye when the other kids paused to look at her, their eyes wide and their faces blanched.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the man’s arm shift; the girl must have seen it too, shifting her feet wider apart to a more steady stance just before the man took a swing at her.

She ducked out of the way, his fist narrowly missing the side of her head. The first girl darted back a few feet, but didn't make it far enough before the man turned back to her with a snarl, reaching out to roughly yank her back over by her arm. She cried out when her knees buckled, only held up by the man’s grip on her upper arm, bending her shoulder at an awkward angle.

It still felt like he was bolted to the ground, but the older girl didn't give it a second’s thought before launching herself at the floor manager, her shoulder slamming into his back hard enough that he dropped the first girl.

She crumpled to the ground with a shout, scrambling back up a second later and running to the other side of the conveyor belt.

The man turned to face the older girl again, reaching behind him for a thick metal pipe, and Han didn't realize he had turned to face them until his arm was already moving.

“Hey!” he shouted, just as the piece of metal he had taken from the conveyor belt hit the back of the man’s head.

Han saw his shoulders stiffen up, and it felt like his heart had dropped into his shoes as the man slowly turned to face him, his knuckles going white around the pipe.

If he was about to die, Han thought, in the split second before the man took a step forward, he wasn't about to take it lying down.

The man didn't get the chance to lift his arm before Han ran at him.

He had no plan, no idea of what he would do when he actually got to the man, all of his carefully cultivated survival instincts thrown out the window when he turned at the last second to jam his shoulder into the man’s chest with as much force as he could muster.

The man stumbled back with a grunt. Han only had a second while he caught his breath to dart back a few feet, and he only realized his mistake when the man lifted his arm with the pipe again, no longer too close to hit at.

Before he could swing it down, the first girl screamed, startling him for the fraction of a second it took for the older girl to punch the back of his neck, too short to reach any higher.

Han had never seen the look in the man’s eyes before until he turned again, fiery and cold at the same time, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one.

“You really that fucking st--”

Han ran at him again, jumping up with his arms tight around the man’s neck before he could finish his sentence.

“She said  _ stop!” _ he shouted, digging his fingernails into the man’s face until he dropped the pipe, stumbling back and unsuccessfully hitting back at Han.

The man stumbled back towards the still moving conveyor belt, and Han let go, rolling underneath it before he heard a sickening, crunchy  _ crack _ and felt something wet and hot on his face.

He saw the man’s legs jerk, slumping to the ground a second later, and he didn't move again.

No one moved for a few seconds until the older girl shut off the machine.

He could hear the first girl crying, distant like he was suddenly far away; he still couldn't get himself to move any more than the way his whole body shook, like whatever autopilot his body had been running on had shut down as soon as he hit the ground.

There were another few seconds of heavy silence before the older girl came around behind the conveyor belt, pulling him out and upright.

Han tried not to look, but he did, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the dark red smear on the metal, blood and bits of something else oozing out from under the man’s head.

He didn't look any less angry when he was dead.

“Han, right?”

He tried to nod, jerking back when the girl took a grease-covered rag from her pocket to wipe at the drops on his face.

The room spun, and he had to gulp down a wave of nausea, almost sinking to the floor before the girl hoisted him back upright.

“You need to get out of here,” she said, licking her thumb to scrub away a persistent spot of blood on the side of his nose.

“I don't--” Han tried to say, barely audible through the tightness in his throat. “I don't know--”

“The shipping docks,” a small voice said behind him.

Han still couldn't get himself to move to face whoever had spoken.

The girl nodded. “Find a ship. Stow away if you have to, doesn't matter, you need to  _ go.” _

“But he…” Han said quietly, almost looking towards the body on the floor again before the girl tugged at the front of his shirt, startling him out of the daze that felt like his insides had frozen. “What will…”

“We can say it was an accident,” she said, pulling him along towards the door. “No one will believe you if you say it, you look too grown.”

Han still felt like he was somewhere other than his body as he stiffly followed her.

She opened the door a crack, holding a hand up for him to wait while a couple people passed before opening it all the way. 

It took a second before Han could get his feet to move, the sunlight stinging his eyes after the dimness of the factory.

He ran.

 

He never stopped.

There were always ships that needed a second set of hands, and it didn't take long to find one that was almost ready to leave.

He couldn't shake the bone-deep fear he had felt in the factory, no matter how far he went or how many different ships he worked on. It came in handier than he would have expected--he was always the first to notice when something felt  _ off _ before a deal went sour, always the first to notice a competitor reaching for their blaster, always the one to beat them to it.

He made good money doing it, until he found a better way.

Han had come to the conclusion that morals were a luxury, only affordable when your own life and safety weren't on the line. 

He didn't  _ want _ to join an Imperial fleet, but he was hungry, and he was tired, and Han had never had the offer before of medical care consisting of more than a tin box with some gauze and floss and rubbing alcohol.

He had a strong survival instinct, and he was inclined to follow it.

His skills as a pilot got him more attention and praise than he would have necessarily liked, quickly becoming a favorite of his least favorite lieutenant.

It took a lot of effort to ignore how much he reminded Han of the floor manager at the factory.

It wasn't long before he was sent to a cargo ship, told that it had been hijacked with instructions to take out the defector, and nothing more.

He didn't ask what the cargo was.

He had learned early that it was sometimes best not to know.

The TIE fighters under his command made short work of the cargo ship, and with a handful of other pilots for backup, he boarded.

The ship was almost completely empty; the cargo holds had been opened, nothing left inside, the pilot and copilot shot in their seats leaving the cockpit smelling of burned flesh and hair.

All of the escape craft had been deployed.

“Think we got a runner,” Han said. “Find the escape pod coordinates.”

His pilots stepped around the dead ones like they were nothing.

Han wrinkled his nose, stepping out with a brief, “I'm gonna do another once-over.”

“You want backup?”

“No one else is here if they sent all the pods out,” Han said, and he listened, and he continued down the hall when he didn't hear footsteps behind him.

The ship was eerily quiet, streaks of blood on the floor that looked at least a few hours old. He stepped with the balls of his feet, creeping almost silently down the hallway, but he paused when he saw another smear of red, brighter than the others he had seen.

It was fresher, leaving a wet imprint in the floor when he touched it with his boot.

Han shook his head to himself and kept walking, following the trail of red spots, but the trail abruptly stopped.

Han frowned.

He was about to keep walking when he heard what sounded like a ragged breath to his left, and he took another couple steps back.

It sounded like it had come from where the tracks had ended.

He held his breath, and he waited.

Another few seconds later, he heard another sound.

Reaching for his blaster with one hand, he slowly reached out with the other; the wall pushed in when he pressed against it, the hidden compartment clicking open when he pulled his hand away.

He held up his blaster at the same moment a bloodied Wookie held up his.

Han couldn't get himself to pull the trigger.

The Wookie’s eyes narrowed, and when Han tried again to move his finger, he realized he couldn't.

He couldn't do any of this.

He snapped his blaster back into the holster, looking over his shoulder before whispering, “I'm getting you outta here.”

With no more escape pods and a lot of convincing, a desperate promise that the Wookie could shoot him if he tried anything, Han managed to get him into his TIE fighter under the pretense of taking a prisoner.

For the second time in his life, Han ran, and he didn't look back.

 

He wasn't sure exactly when his outlook on morals changed, but it did.

He could steal, he could lie and cheat and scam, he could shoot first if the only other option was being shot instead, but there were things he would never do, and one of those things was turning into the lieutenant or the floor manager; not even his own life was worth that.

Finding a ship to work on with a Wookie in tow wasn't as easy as when it had just been him.

Finding a ship to steal proved to be easier.

It was rundown and creaky, close to being sent to the scrapyard anyway; the seller might as well have been stealing from whoever they would have tried to sell it to, so in a sense, he told himself, he was helping someone else out.

They only made it far enough not to be followed, barely making it to the next port before the engine ground to a halt.

They still had to walk for the better part of an hour to find the materials to repair it.

With what little Shyriiwook Han already understood, he learned that the Wookie’s name was Chewbacca, and he learned that under all the anger and hurt, he was kind.

He had been uneasy around Han at first, and Han didn't push it, keeping a careful distance, but he could feel Chewbacca warming up to him as they worked on the engines.

They took a break a few hours in, tearing open the packets of dehydrated food they had picked up with the materials, nothing else on board and no money for anything that Han couldn't easily slip into his pockets.

They ate in silence, easy and comfortable compared to the tense quiet that had hung over them while they were flying before.

Chewbacca finished first, and while Han was still halfway through something that was supposed to resemble bread, Chewbacca pointed to himself with a grunt.

It took Han a second to recognize it.

_ Why? _

Han swallowed thickly and took a deep breath. “It was fucked up,” he said. “I couldn't keep working for people who would do that.”

Chewbacca nodded slowly, quiet again for a second before pointing to the rest of Han’s food with another grunt.

“Nah, go for it.”

 

Chewie had already inadvertently flipped Han’s worldview upside down once, and he wouldn't have expected it to happen again.

They made a good team, Han discovered; nothing said intimidating like a seven-foot-tall Wookie with a bowcaster strapped to his back, leaving people to guess what he had said by Han’s purposefully vague and cryptic responses.

It set people on edge, and anxious people make mistakes.

Those mistakes usually gave Han an opening to get out if necessary, or bump his prices up, or gave him the extra second he needed to reach for his blaster, but not always, and they found that out the hard way.

Han was no stranger to being shot at at that point, zigzagging out of the way of the shots zipping past him, but he didn't see the jagged rock sticking out of the ground until he tripped over it, his ankle twisting painfully before his knee and his forearm slammed into the ground.

Chewie was still ahead of him, the blaster shots getting closer and closer, one hitting the ground a few inches away from him.

In the split second before Chewie stopped, Han realized he was about to die.

Chewie ran back to him, shooting the bowcaster towards the Jenets trailing them before hauling Han upright.

“My ankle--holy  _ shit.” _

Chewie hoisted Han over his shoulder before he could say anything else, holding Han in place with his free hand as he shot behind him again.

There was no way he would be able to aim effectively with the way he was bouncing uncomfortably on Chewie’s shoulder, but he took a deep breath, steadying his arm as best he could, and the shot hit the Jenet closest to them square in the chest.

Han yelped a startled laugh, gripping Chewie’s fur with his free hand when he sped up to get to the loading ramp.

Chewie dumped him unceremoniously into the pilot’s seat, starting up the engines, and Han barely noticed the pain in his leg and his arm through the adrenaline rush when the ship shot up through the atmosphere.

Han switched on the autopilot once they were a safe distance away, with nothing on the radar worth worrying about.

Later, as Chewie scrubbed the grit out of the deep scrapes on Han’s knee and his arm, the adrenaline fading, Han realized he had been wrong.

Chewie could have left without him, didn't have to risk getting shot at to turn back; he could have piloted the ship himself and taken the pay without having to split it, but he didn't.

He could rely on Chewie.

 

Han had never spent more than a night or two with anyone until he met Lando.

He hadn't made a point of it, but attachments lead to blind spots and vulnerability, and he wasn't particularly inclined to falling asleep with someone else there.

Lando had started out as a mark, with the nice clothes and poise of someone with enough money not to know when Han was bumping up the price of a deal.

It didn't take long to realize that it had been part of his own scam, but he was cute, and his smile made Han’s chest feel funny in a way he decided not to think about, and Han decided to let it play out a little longer.

A little longer turned into a business partnership, and a business partnership turned into something else.

Han still slept alone.

His guard had been up for years, and even if he wanted to, he wasn't sure he knew how to let it down.

Looking back on it, Han realized it had started chipping away at a moment where it had felt like his guard was at its highest.

Han always took longer to adjust to the local time than Lando did, anytime they stayed in one place long enough for it to matter, falling asleep when a new sun started to rise and waking up groggy and disoriented a few hours later.

Han hadn't seen Lando on his way from his bunk to the kitchen, shuffling to the caf machine Lando had bartered for a while back, hitting the buttons by muscle memory when he was still too tired for his eyes to focus.

He hadn't heard Lando come in, either, until suddenly his left arm was raised defensively in front of his chest and his right hand was gripping Lando’s wrist like a vice before he had fully registered Lando’s hand on his shoulder.

Neither of them moved for a second.

Han stiffly let go of Lando’s wrist and dropped his hand at his side, stepping back until his back hit the counter.

Lando’s eyes were still wide, confusion plain on his face laced with something else Han wasn't sure he wanted to identify.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted some of the rolls Chewie got earlier,” he said slowly, “but--”

“I--” Han stammered, looking away and shaking his head to himself, swerving around Lando to get back to his bunk. “I gotta go.”

He slammed the button for the door to close and sat down on the bed, gripping the frame until his knuckles went white to keep his hands from shaking.

He couldn't tell why his heart wouldn't slow down, his throat too tight to get a deep breath, his chest feeling fluttery like it was filled with bugs until he froze up at the sound of a knock on the door.

“Can I come in?”

Han took a deep breath and willed his expression as blank as it would go. “Yeah.”

The door creaked open, and Lando closed it again behind him.

He glanced at the spot next to Han on the bed, waiting for him to nod before coming to sit down.

“Are you alright?”

He could feel Lando’s eyes on him; he kept looking forward at the wall. “Just didn't hear you earlier.”

His breath caught in his throat for a second when Lando slowly reached for his hand with a soft squeeze.

“I wasn't thinking,” Lando said, scooting closer until their shoulders were touching, bumping his nose to Han’s jaw until he tilted his head for a quick kiss. “I shouldn't have come up behind you.”

“Sorry,” Han mumbled, holding Lando’s hand a little tighter.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Lando kissed him again and stood up, tugging Han up with him. “You never got your caf.”

Han’s bed was warmer that night, tucked snugly against Lando’s side, and when he woke up, Lando was still there.

 

Luke came into his life like a wrecking ball.

There was nothing new about their first interaction; Han had made plenty of easy money off of plenty of overcharged passengers before him.

This was not an easy ride.

He had been enticed by the reward, torn between anxious and excited for the opportunity for a big fuck-you to the Empire, and he steadfastly ignored the part of himself telling him it was about more than the money.

That part of him went quiet as they flew off, down one mysterious old coot and up one angry princess, but it was still there, and it never seemed to go away.

When he flew off a second time, Luke's words wouldn't stop repeating in his head, no matter how much he tried to shut them up.

_ Take care of yourself, Han. _

He grimaced, flipping a switch on the dashboard with more force than was really necessary.

_ That’s what you're good at. _

He  _ was, _ he tried to tell himself, and he probably wouldn't be alive to think it if he wasn't. Luke had had his chance to come with him, and he hadn't taken it; there was nothing else Han could do.

His hand froze a few inches above the controls for the hyperdrive.

Chewie rumbled questioningly at him.

“Shit,” Han muttered to himself.  _ “Shit.” _

Chewie didn't need any more prompting before turning the Falcon around.

 

Han hadn't necessarily been wrong about attachments--attachments lead to vulnerability and vulnerability lead to mistakes--but that still wasn't enough to get him to care when they were closing down the base for the night and Luke was still outside.

Han wasn't sure when his carefully crafted self-preservation instincts had been replaced by the growing, irritating part of himself, telling him this was about more than the money, and he didn't give it a second’s thought before grabbing the nearest Taun Taun and bolting.

There was no doubt in his mind about the fact that he might not make it back, but he’d be damned if Luke was going to die alone if he had anything to say about it.

The next night, his mild hypothermia treated and Luke safely in a hospital bed, Han couldn't stop staring at the ceiling, hours after he had first tried to go to sleep.

When he finally got out of bed, wandering to medical without really meaning to, Luke wasn't asleep either.

Crammed together into the small hospital bed, finally getting close to sleep, Han realized that his tendency towards self-preservation at all costs hadn't been replaced by just that part of himself telling him that this was more than the money.

It had been replaced by Luke.

 

When Luke left, he wasn't sure what else he was staying for; there was that irritating sense of responsibility, the fact that if he could help, he should, but it felt empty and hollow.

He didn't have much time to feel it before he felt cold, and then nothing at all.

He hadn't held onto the idea that he would ever see Luke again; even if there was the possibility, hoping only brought disappointment, and as he was lowered into the carbon freeze chamber, it sunk in that he wouldn't.

When that nothing melted away, tumbling freezing and shaking to the ground, he had thought dying would be easier; when he heard Luke's voice, despite the growing possibility that he  _ would _ die, that thought fell to the back of his mind.

For the second time, someone had come back for him, and this time there were four.

 

He slept easier with Luke.

He didn't check the lock on the door twice anymore, couldn't only sleep facing the nearest exit with his back to the wall and a blaster within arms reach. He didn't jerk awake at the slightest sound when Luke was on top of him, or warm and snug against Han’s back, his arms tight around Han’s waist even when it made his natural hand go numb and tingly.

It was easier to get  _ back _ to sleep, too, but the nightmares didn't stop, and they didn't stop waking him up; they just changed.

He wasn't small and on the streets anymore, for the most part. The factory was replaced by a holding cell on Cloud City or the carbon freeze chamber, the  _ crack _ of the floor manager’s head hitting the conveyor belt replaced by the hissing of the chamber before waking up in another cell, blind and freezing and disoriented.

On the one hand, he thought, at least it was a change from the last couple decades, but on the other, the devil he knew was better than the devil he didn't.

It turned out that neither had been as bad as both devils combined.

He had never liked dreaming at all; they were rarely good, and even when they were, he never had a shred of control over what happened in them, and while he could deal with that--he could never really control real life, either--not having any control over himself was torturous.

It hadn't seemed out of the ordinary at the beginning; he was small again, vague fragments of the streets he had grown up in peppered with blank faces that he only recognized for a second before forgetting them as soon as he passed.

He turned a corner, and the streets became walls, but the factory was different.

There were no other kids this time. 

As he walked to the conveyor belt, the closer he got, the more it looked like where he was bound in the holding cell on Cloud City; suddenly he was facing the other direction, straps around his arms and his legs.

They were loose, sized for an adult, too big to hold him down.

He didn't budge.

In dreams or awake, he could never remember exactly what the device looked like that had been used to electrocute him before dumping him back with Leia, like it was burned out of his head, but the floor manager appeared in front of him with what looked like a cattle prod.

He didn't speak, but Han still heard the  _ you wanna say that again? _ as clearly as if he had, and then his whole field of vision lit up in white-hot pain.

When the worst of it stopped, his chest still burning, he was back in the carbon freeze chamber, the shackles hanging loose around his tiny wrists.

The hissing of the jets started, and then it didn't stop.

Time never seemed to run the right way when he was dreaming, and it felt like a second and a year at the same time before he heard  _ Han. _

The hissing continued, his skin burning from the cold, and the chamber started to shake--

“Han.”

He was back in his bed.

It was mostly dark, just the dim light from a lamp Luke had brought in for when he woke up like this, usually still too caught up in the dream to realize he wasn't temporarily blind again.

He didn't realize he was shaking until Luke pushed his hair back from his eyes, cupping his cheek, his hand steady and still compared to Han.

He was too relieved to be uncomfortable about the concern clear on his face.

“Are you alright?” Luke whispered, reaching down to pull the blankets back up from where they had slipped from Han moving around in his sleep.

Han took a deep breath and managed a shaky nod.

“You can see?”

Han nodded again.

“Was it Cloud City again?” Luke asked quietly, bringing his hand back up to Han’s hair, rubbing his fingertips in slow circles over his scalp.

Han hesitated. “Yeah.”

Luke pressed a kiss to his forehead, pulling Han close against him, his arms tight around Han’s shoulders.

He could tell when Luke was using the Force to bring him down gently, his heart rate slowing to a steady thud from the uneven, frantic beats from before; Luke never mentioned that he did it, and Han didn't either.

 

Days later, he still couldn't shake the unsettling feeling from the dream.

He usually only remembered them from how repetitive they were, vague bits and pieces that got harder to remember specifically the more he tried, until he had to start the process over again the next morning.

This one was as clear as if it had actually happened, the sense of helplessness and lack of control lingering at the back of his mind no matter what else he was doing.

It left him jumpy and on edge, startling more easily than usual, and he hadn't found himself shifting so often so his back was to the wall, never to a door or a window, in a long time.

It only settled to an itch when he was with Luke, alone together in his bunk in the Falcon with the door locked behind them.

It got easier to ignore when Luke was kissing him.

He had just enough conscious thought left to smack the switch to lock the door on their way in, almost tripping over the clutter on the floor when they couldn't be bothered to stop kissing long enough to look where they were going.

Han’s back hit the wall with a satisfying  _ thunk, _ Luke leaning up on his toes to give him the height to wedge his thigh between Han’s, pinning him in place.

His mind went perfectly, blessedly blank.

The unsettling helplessness was gone as Luke pressed forward, gripping tight at Han’s hips before shifting his natural hand back to squeeze at his ass.

Han’s knees felt like jelly, almost buckling when Luke leaned down to kiss along his neck, and he couldn't keep down a shaky whine when Luke started sucking a mark into the curve of his shoulder.

Hours later, Luke’s breathing sleep-steady and warm against his neck where he was wrapped tightly around Han’s back, Han realized he hadn't checked a second time to make sure that the door was locked.

He closed his eyes, and he didn't feel the impulse to get up for it.

 

Han couldn't stop thinking about it.

It pushed that unsettling feeling to the back burner, and when Han found his mind wandering, it kept wandering back to how  _ secure _ it had felt, caught between Luke and the wall, nowhere to go and nothing to do but follow Luke's lead.

He liked it a little more than he would want to admit when Luke did that.

On his back on a creeper to work under the dashboard of the Falcon, small screwdriver between his teeth with a wrench halfway through twisting a bolt back into place, Han’s hands went still for a second.

He knew, realistically, his guard would always be up; it helped more than it inconvenienced, but it was  _ exhausting, _ and even when he wanted to, he didn't know how to switch it off.

He just needed a break.

He let out a slow breath and went back to turning the wrench.

Maybe he couldn't give himself that break, but  _ Luke. _

 

It had been days, and Han still couldn't figure out how to bring it up.

It just sounded silly when he tried to put it into words.

“Hey, Luke,” he practiced, whispering to himself in the refresher. “I don't know how to calm the fuck down and stop being a paranoid control freak, so if you could just push me around a little or whatever that was, that’d be great.” He groaned and bumped his head against the wall. “Hell…”

He stood up straight again when he heard a few knocks on the door.

“You're going to use up the hot water.”

“Just a sec,” he shouted back.

That night, still barely knowing what he was trying to ask for, it felt like the words he hadn't found yet were fighting their way up his throat.

It got harder to keep them down when Han stumbled back onto the bed, Luke clamoring into his lap to kiss him. He was warm, and solid, and that safe, secure feeling came crashing back as soon as he was settled on Han’s thighs.

Luke kissed him slow but purposeful, already rocking his hips slightly against Han’s, looping his arm around Han’s shoulder as his other hand slipped up the front of his shirt.

It was almost enough to make Han forget about what he still didn't know how to say, until Luke moved his hand from Han’s shoulder, reaching up to his hair with a quick tug.

Luke’s eyes lit up when Han couldn't keep down a startled whine.

“Please--” he panted, his voice cracking when Luke ducked down to kiss along his neck, desperate and needy in a way he hadn't heard from himself before.

Luke went still.

“Please what?”

Han had heard him say that countless times before, but this was genuine, not a hint of teasing in his tone.

Han’s throat felt tight, his eyes flickering shut when Luke started mouthing at the curve of his neck. “I don't--” He cut himself off with a gasp. “I don't know--”

Luke stopped again, but before he could straighten up from Han’s neck, the words blurted out before he could stop them.

“Tell me what to do.”

He felt Luke's soft exhale against his skin more than he heard the whispered, “Oh.” Luke pressed a quick kiss to his jaw, straightening up to kiss him properly before sliding out of Han’s lap to stand up.

“Take those off?” he said, more of a question than an instruction, and then a slightly firmer, “And lie down.”

Luke didn't move while Han haphazardly tossed his clothes away and lay down.

“Hands behind your back?”

Han took a deep breath and wriggled his arms between himself and the mattress, clasping his hands together at the curve of his spine.

Luke hesitated for a second, his eyes raking slowly over Han’s body before he got back in the bed to sit between Han’s legs. He nudged Han’s thighs wider apart, scooting back so he could prop himself up on his elbows on either side of Han’s waist.

Han was already half hard, his hips twitching up towards Luke's mouth when he kissed along the crease where his thigh met his pelvis, biting back a whimper when Luke held him still with his forearm over Han’s hips.

Luke mouthed over his balls and up to the base of his dick, only pulling back for a split second to take him into his mouth.

Han groaned, clenching his fingers behind his back as Luke slowly bobbed his head, hollowing his cheeks on each pull up. He wanted to  _ touch, _ get his fingers in Luke's hair, but not being able to made him buzz in a way he hadn't felt before.

There was nothing binding him there, only his own weight holding his hands down, no reason he couldn't move if he wanted to, but he didn't.

It wasn't like in the dream, where he should have been able to shake his hands free but didn't have the control to; it hadn't been a choice to stay shackled, but it felt like it should have been, and Luke had taken away the need for that choice by giving it back to him.

He could free his hands at any time, but he  _ wanted _ to hold still for Luke; he didn't have to be so perfectly in control over himself if Luke was instead.

It didn't take long for Luke to get him fully hard, but then he didn't stop.

He pulled up for a second to catch his breath, his cheeks deliciously pink as he pumped his free hand over Han’s dick before dipping back down to take him into his mouth again. 

Luke held him down a little harder just before Han could twitch up into his mouth, the pressure on his hips as Luke ducked down until his nose was almost at Han's pelvis making him moan. He could feel it when Luke choked down a cough, holding himself there another few seconds before pulling up just far enough to breathe through his nose, laving his tongue over the head before bobbing down again.

Han’s eyes flickered shut with a groan, but only for a second; he didn't think there was anything that could get him to stop looking at Luke right then.

Still fully clothed, his hair almost as neat as before without Han grabbing at it, he only added to the surprisingly freeing feeling of Luke calling the shots for him.

Luke looked up at him as he pulled up to breathe through his nose again, smiling as much as he could with his mouth full as he sucked him back down. He bobbed his head a couple times, never pulling up more than a few inches before pushing himself down with a hum that made Han's legs shake.

Han tightly clenched his hands together, arching up from the bed before Luke pressed him down again, whining when his back hit the mattress. Luke pushed himself further until his nose was almost bumping Han’s pelvis, and Han couldn't stifle a moaned,  _ “Oh, _ fuck--” when Luke swallowed down a cough.

Luke held himself there another few seconds, swallowing again before pulling back up for a breath and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, dipping down again barely a second later.

Han’s head dropped back to the pillow with a groan, his hands trembling behind his back, wanting to reach down to pull Luke off before he came but wanting to hold still for him even more.

“Luke,” he gasped, his hips twitching against Luke's arm. “Babe--”

Luke hummed again as he pulled up, swirling his tongue over the tip before pulling off completely.

His lips were damp and pink, his face a little more flushed than before, and all Han wanted to do was get up and  _ kiss him-- _

He stayed still.

Luke took a few deep breaths and kissed along his hip to mouth over the base of his dick, light and teasing, still holding his hips flat on the bed. 

It looked like he was about to start sucking Han off again before passing by his dick, kissing at the soft, sensitive skin at Han's inner thigh before biting down, not enough to  _ hurt _ but enough to make Han whine, Luke holding him down a little more firmly.

He knew there would be a mark left over from the way Luke sucked at the tender spot before pulling back up, the thought making him shudder.

Luke crawled up above him, his knees tight at Han's sides, boxing him in with his hands on either side of Han's shoulders; he almost unclasped his hands to reach for Luke's hips when Luke leaned down to kiss him, rough and needy, but he went still again when Luke settled on his thighs.

Luke pulled back just a few inches, his eyes half-lidded and hungry, tweaking his thumb over Han's lower lip before leaning in to kiss him again, muffling the soft, “You're so good.”

Han whimpered, lacing his fingers together to fight back the impulse to touch him, rocking up to where Luke was carefully avoiding putting any pressure on his dick.

Luke kept kissing him until Han rocked up again, nipping at his lip as he pulled up and slid out of Han's lap.

The closest thing Luke had ever done to a strip tease had ended in a laughing fit that was too much to even kiss through until they both calmed down, too cute and stiffly nervous for Han to do anything but smile; Luke had jokingly held what was supposed to be a sexy pose for a few seconds when he realized it was anything  _ but _ sexy, falling apart into giggles until Han couldn't help laughing too.

This time was more than a tease.

Luke slowly popped the buttons open on his shirt until he could slide it down his shoulders, not taking his eyes off of Han as he tossed it over the back of a chair.

Han had to remind himself to breathe when Luke started on his pants, only looking away from Han for a second to kick them off his ankles before getting back into bed.

He settled again in Han’s lap, holding himself up on his knees, close enough that Han could feel him getting wet when his hips twitched up against Luke.

He leaned down slow, his lips barely touching Han’s when he murmured, “Hands by your head,” before kissing him properly.

Han’s hands felt tingly from the blood rushing back when he moved them from behind his back. His breath caught in his throat for a second when Luke’s fingers looped around his wrists, loose at first to give Han a second to tell him to stop before holding his hands to the bed with just a hint of pressure.

There was a spike of something tight and uncomfortable in his chest when Luke first did it, melting away to leave him feeling hot and  _ secure _ almost immediately.

He could still move if he wanted to; Luke was leaning all his weight on Han’s lap, holding his wrists with the same tightness as when they held hands, snug but pliant and impossibly soft.

He didn't want to move.

Luke rolled his hips down, damp and warm over Han's dick, and Han felt him groan into the kiss when he rocked up against him.

Luke inched back for a second, kissing him again before sitting up straight. He let go of one of Han's hands to reach down for his clit, grinning to himself when Han didn't move.

Han had to bite back a whine when Luke's eyes flickered shut, bending his wrist so he could finger himself before pulling back to his clit again.

Han’s fingers twitched with the effort to keep his hand in place.

Luke rubbed his thumb over Han's wrist, circling over his clit with his other hand one more time before shifting forward a couple inches and reaching back. He pumped his hand over Han's dick a couple times, grinning again when Han almost moved his hand before clenching his fingers and keeping it still. 

Han couldn't hold back a moan when Luke lowered himself down, slowly rolling his hips before leaning forward to hold Han’s free hand down. He didn't take his time building up a rhythm to it, the thin mattress squeaking against the frame each time he dropped down, bouncing quick and shaky in Han's lap.

Han tilted his head up with a whine, and Luke didn't need any more prompting before ducking down to kiss him, sliding his hands a little higher to link his fingers with Han's.

Han broke the kiss with a groan when Luke settled flat on his hips, rocking down against him without pulling up at all. He kissed along Han's jaw and down to his neck, his breath heavy and warm against Han's skin where he was mouthing a faint mark into his neck; Han couldn't help thrusting up into him with a deep shudder, and Luke moaned, clenching around him before he started lifting up and dropping back down again.

Han hadn't had the time to cool off between almost coming before and Luke starting to ride him, and he could feel it creeping up again, his hips twitching up to meet Luke's before he managed a gasped, “I'm gonna--”

Luke cut him off with another kiss, hot and messy before straightening up again and giving Han’s hands a quick squeeze. “Not yet.”

Han whined, gripping Luke's hands tighter when he slowly started rocking his hips again. Luke let go of one of Han's hands, tugging the other up above his head;  Han moved his free hand up with it, biting back another whine when Luke shifted to pin both his hands down together.

Luke slowly dragged his free hand down Han’s chest, the synthetic skin of his prosthetic smooth and not quite as warm as his natural hand, making Han shiver before Luke made it back down to his clit.

Han kept his hips as still as he could, biting the inside of his cheek to try to hold back the feeling that he was about to come while Luke fucked himself on him, circling his fingers quick and jerky over his clit. Han had to squeeze his eyes shut for a second; looking at Luke was too much, the flush on his cheeks and the way he bit his lip when he was concentrating pushing Han too close to coming too soon.

It got harder to hold it back the closer Luke got, bouncing unevenly in Han's lap, his knees shaking on either side of Han's waist as he moved his fingers faster over his clit. He felt Luke's hand tighten at his wrists before he felt him shudder, his voice cracking on a shaky moan as he roughly dropped himself down into Han's lap.

He slumped a few seconds later, his hand trembling where he was holding Han’s wrists together, slowly rubbing over his clit with his other hand before wiping the damp from his fingers onto his thigh.

Han bit back a whine when Luke took a deep breath and shifted in his lap, leaning down to kiss him and link their fingers together again by Han’s head before slowly starting to roll his hips again.

He could feel Luke grin when he tried to stifle a moan and failed, nipping at his bottom lip as he gradually started rocking faster.

“Luke--” Han panted, his hips twitching up into him, groaning when Luke ducked down to suck another mark into his neck before moving back up with a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Do you want to come?” he asked quietly, his voice rough and just above a whisper, and Han couldn't keep down a whine when Luke started lifting up and lowering himself back down.

“Please,” he groaned, tilting his head to get Luke to kiss him. “Please--”

“You can come,” he murmured, giving Han’s hands a soft squeeze, and he had barely finished the sentence before Han helplessly thrust up into him, his back arching before he went slack and still.

Luke hummed into the kiss and let go of Han's hands, only breaking away for a second to gingerly lift himself from Han’s lap, flopping down against his side to kiss him again.

Han didn't think he had ever felt so relaxed in his life.

“Was that okay?” Luke asked quietly, none of the gentle confidence from before.

“Holy shit,” Han mumbled, pulling Luke on top of him and winding his arms around his waist, and it took a minute before he could get himself to break the kiss to add, “That’s a yes.”

Luke smiled, pulling back for a second to push Han’s hair out of his eyes, his expression so warm it made Han's insides feel warm, too, and he would have been perfectly happy to never move again.

 

They didn't for a while; Luke slipped down to Han's side, his arm snug around Han's waist and his head on Han's shoulder, and he almost thought Luke had fallen asleep until he asked, “What was that about?”

“Hm?”

Luke propped himself up on his elbow, absently trailing his fingers along Han's side. “You never asked for that kind of thing before,” he said. “Not that I'm  _ complaining, _ just…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Curious if there was a reason.”

Han wanted to say  _ no, _ he just felt like it, but all he said was, “I don't know,” less casually than he had intended.

Luke frowned.

Han decided it was easier to look at Luke's lips than at his eyes. “I just needed a break.”

“From what?”

Han still didn't know exactly.

“A few nights ago,” he said eventually, “when I woke up.”

Luke nodded.

“It wasn't just Cloud City,” he said. “I was. It was like I was a kid again.” He decided to leave out the second part of why that was. “But I couldn't move, even though the shit holding me down was too loose to actually  _ hold _ me down.”

Luke blanched.

“Not like that,” Han hurriedly added. “It wasn't...you were perfect, I needed--I wanted you to do that.”

“I don't understand.”

Neither did he, Han thought. “I should have been able to move. In the dream. Like, if it wasn't a dream, I could have, but.” He groaned and dragged his palm over his face. “I don't know--”

“You couldn't decide to move,” Luke said tentatively. “Because it was a dream.”

Han nodded and looked away.

“So you needed to...not have to decide,” he continued. “Or  _ decide _ to...be held down?”

Han froze up for a second before slowly looking back to Luke. “I think you got it.”

Luke's eyebrows twitched upwards. “Oh?”

Han nodded again. “I could decide not to decide if you were the one doing it.”

Luke's expression softened; he leaned down again to kiss him, shuffling closer and hooking his leg over Han's until there wasn't a shred of space between them.

“Whatever you need,” he said, pressing a kiss below Han’s jaw. “Just talk to me next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> @hansolosbi dot tumblr!
> 
> wrt the warning (if youre here from the top): this briefly mentions some not-sure-if-its-canon-anymore-or-what abuse but doesnt go into detail (basically just says That it happened), a guy gets killed accidentally and its a little gross but also pretty brief, i think thats about it


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